Tempt Me at Twilight (The Hathaways #3)(26)

No one could deny that Leo was a handsome man, tall and broad shouldered, with dark brown hair and striking eyes. Unlike his sisters, his eyes were a light shade of blue, glacier colored with dark rims. Haunting. World-weary. He comported himself as a rake and did a thorough job of it, appearing never to care about anyone or anything. There were moments, however, when the mask was lifted just long enough to reveal a man of extraordinary feeling, and it was in those rare moments that Catherine was most apprehensive around him.

When they were in London, Leo was usually too busy to spend time with his family, for which Catherine was grateful. From the moment they had met, she had felt an intrinsic dislike for him, and he for her, flint and iron striking to create sparks of hatred. At times they competed to see who could say the most hurtful things to the other, each of them testing, prodding, trying to find places of vulnerability. They couldn’t seem to help it, the constant urge to cut each other down to size.

Catherine answered the door of the family suite, and a jolt of reaction went through her as she was confronted by Leo’s lanky, big-framed form. He was fashionably dressed in a dark coat with wide lapels, loose trousers with no creases, and a boldly patterned waistcoat with silver buttons.

He surveyed her with wintry eyes, an arrogant smile tilting the corners of his lips. “Good afternoon, Marks.”

Catherine was stone-faced, her voice edged with scorn. “Lord Ramsay. I’m surprised you could tear yourself away from your amusements long enough to visit your sister.”

Leo gave her a look of bemused mockery. “What have I done to earn a scolding? You know, Marks, if you ever learned to hold your tongue, your chances of attracting a man would rise exponentially.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Why would I want to attract a man? I have yet to see anything they’re good for.”

“If for nothing else,” Leo said, “you need us to help produce more women.” He paused. “How is my sister?”

“Heartbroken.”

Leo’s mouth turned grim. “Let me in, Marks. I want to see her.”

Catherine took a grudging step aside.

Leo went into the receiving room and found Poppy sitting alone with a book. He gave her an assessing glance. His normally bright-eyed sister was pale and drawn. She seemed unutterably weary, temporarily aged by grief.

Fury welled inside him. There were few people that mattered to him in the world, but Poppy was one of them.

It was unfair that the people who longed for love the most, searched the hardest for it, found it so elusive. And there seemed no good reason why Poppy, the prettiest girl in London, shouldn’t have been married by now. But Leo had gone through lists of acquaintances in his mind, pondering whether any of them would do for his sister, and none of them was remotely suitable. If one had the right temperament, he was an idiot or in his dotage. And then there were the lechers, the spendthrifts, and the reprobates. God help him, the peerage was a deplorable collection of male specimens. And he included himself in that estimation.

“Hello, sis,” Leo said gently, approaching her. “Where are the others?”

Poppy managed a wan smile. “Cam is out on business matters, and Amelia and Beatrix are at the park, pushing Rye in the perambulator.” She moved her feet to make room for him on the settee. “How are you, Leo?”

“Never mind that. What about you?”

“Never better,” she said bravely.

“Yes, I can see that.” Leo sat and reached for Poppy, gathering her close. He held her, patting her back, until he heard her sniffle. “That bastard,” he said quietly. “Shall I kill him for you?”

“No,” she said in a congested voice, “it wasn’t his fault. He sincerely wanted to marry me. His intentions were good.”

He kissed the top of her head. “Don’t ever trust men with good intentions. They’ll always disappoint you.”

Refusing to smile at his quip, Poppy drew back to look at him. “I want to go home, Leo,” she said plaintively.

“Of course you do, darling. But you can’t yet.”

She blinked. “Why not?”

“Yes, why not?” Catherine Marks asked tartly, sitting in a nearby chair.

Leo paused to send a brief scowl in the companion’s direction before returning his attention to Poppy. “Rumors are flying,” he said bluntly. “Last night I went to a drum, given by the wife of the Spanish ambassador—one of those things you go to only to be able to say you went—and I couldn’t count the number of times I was asked about you and Bayning. Everyone seems to think that you were in love with Bayning, and that he rejected you because his father thinks you’re not good enough.”

“That’s the truth.”

“Poppy, this is London society, where the truth can get you into trouble. If you tell one truth, you’ll have to tell another truth, and another, to keep covering up.”

That elicited a genuine smile from her. “Are you trying to give me advice, Leo?”

“Yes, and although I always tell you to ignore my advice, this time you’d better take it. The last significant event of the season is a ball held by Lord and Lady Norbury next week—”

“We have just written our regrets,” Catherine informed him. “Poppy does not wish to attend.”

Leo glanced at her sharply. “Have the regrets been sent?”